


Bitte, Danke schön

by pauliemeatballs



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauliemeatballs/pseuds/pauliemeatballs
Summary: A screenplay-styled ficlet based in a Victorian AU inspired by Sarah Waters' novel Fingersmith, the closing scene referencing both the novel and The Handmaiden (2016).
Relationships: Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper/Reinhardt Wilhelm
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Bitte, Danke schön

**Author's Note:**

> Siebren is a defamed nobleman who, after being shunned by society and his peers for his scientific research, plans to enter a loveless marriage with the countess Moira, who promises to keep funding him. With nothing but his estate and the mysterious abilities he's come into as a consequence of his studies, he puts out an ad for a manservant, to which policeman Reinhardt responds with the ulterior motive to bring him and Moira into custody. However, the unexpected bond he forms with the count leads him to question his purpose, especially when he notices the count's physical and mental health deteriorating consistently after mysterious meetings with Moira in the middle of the night, not knowing these are actually sessions in which he displays his abilities for Moira.

COUNT DE KUIPER’S ROOM - AFTERNOON

The ornate doors to his bedroom have been left open. The room itself is dreary, desaturated even more by the cloudy weather visible through the tall windows. There is a lot of forest green in the decor; the floors themselves dark brown, well-polished wood. To the right of the doors against the connecting wall is a large bookcase, and a few feet up the same wall is the entrance to the COUNT’S bathroom; an equally dreary color palette within.

Quick, thunderous footsteps can be heard down the hall; the sound of someone frantically running. The COUNT’S bodyguard, REINHARDT, bursts in with the COUNT himself in his arms bridal style, limp and clearly unconscious, and the man’s cane awkwardly held by the hand supporting his back. REINHARDT slows down when he reaches the foot of the bed, kneeling down with his employer still in his arms; the cane clatters to the floor. He undoes the man’s cravat and tosses it aside, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt to allow him to breathe better. His glasses, kept around his neck with a string, are askew on his nose. REINARDT adjusts them. He doesn’t know why. COUNT DE KUIPER has suffered a seizure in public, triggered by a critical migraine that he noticed had been building up since the beginning of the day. At the moment, he has a rolled-up glove stuffed between his teeth; an impromptu decision on REINHARDT’S part to prevent him from biting into his tongue. The COUNT is extremely meticulous about his gloves, and REINHARDT knows he will be reprimanded in some way later, but it makes no difference to him. At the moment, he looks down at the man, profoundly concerned.

They are but a year apart in age, REINHARDT being 61 years old and the COUNT 62, but the sudden shock of his pain in addition to how prone he looks at the moment visually places him years above his bodyguard. He looks so fragile, so tired, so sad. REINHARDT removes his outer coat, leaving the COUNT in his vest and white shirt. He also reaches for his shoes and socks, throwing them aside as well. The COUNT never wears shoes in the house. REINHARDT doesn’t know why he decided to do that; whether or not he has shoes on doesn’t matter. It also doesn’t occur to him to place the COUNT on his bed. Instead, REINHARDT holds him until he wakes. About an hour passes, and he does.

REINHARDT  
 _Geht es Euch gut, mein Herr?_ (Are you alright, my lord?)

DE KUIPER doesn’t respond right away, still blinking himself into consciousness. REINHARDT pays closer attention to his facial expressions to see if the pain in his head has subsided. It seems it has. The COUNT is regaining his permanent furrowed-brow expression, as if every single solitary thing in the world is out to annoy him personally. He glances up at REINHARDT once, then unfocuses his eyes, seeming to look directly at REINHARDT’S vest.

COUNT DE KUIPER  
(sternly, more like a statement than a question)  
 _Waarom ben ik op de vloer?_ (Why am I on the floor?)

REINHARDT  
 _Eure Migräne, mein Herr. Du bist ohnmächtig geworden, während wir weg waren. Ich habe dich hierher zurückgebracht._ (Your migraine, my lord. You passed out while we were away. I brought you back here.)

DE KUIPER is silent for a bit. His indignant facial expression has fully returned.

COUNT DE KUIPER  
 _Kwam het niet bij je op om me in bed te leggen? En je hebt mijn kleren losgemaakt._ (It didn’t occur to you to put me in bed? And you’ve undone my clothes.)

REINHARDT  
 _Es tut mir leid, Herr. Deine Krawatte hätte es dir schwerer gemacht, zu atmen. Ich musste dir auch etwas in den Mund stecken. Einen deiner Handschuhe. Es ist, weil--_ (I’m sorry, sir. Your cravat would have made it more difficult for you to breathe. I had to put something in your mouth, too. One of your gloves. It's because--)

COUNT DE KUIPER  
(waving a hand)  
 _Spaar me. Ik weet waarom._ (Spare me. I know why.)

DE KUIPER sits up on his own, looking down at his unbuttoned shirt. He has the bleary, disoriented eyes of someone who’s been asleep for a while, like a six-hour nap originally meant to be a catnap. After removing his glasses and setting them on the night-table, he tries to get up and sit on the edge of his bed, but his feet immediately buckle from underneath him. REINHARDT catches him just before his knees hit the floor, quickly taking his hands. DE KUIPER snatches them away, wanting to do it himself. He lets himself sink back down, then back up into the bed’s side, walking his hands up backwards and supporting his own weight until he is seated on the comforter. He exhales, half from exhaustion, half from embarrassment.

REINHARDT  
I--

COUNT DE KUIPER  
(cocking his head behind him without taking his eyes from his buttons, reaching for them)  
 _Teken me een bad, alsjeblieft._ (Draw me a bath, please.)

REINHARDT  
 _Natürlich, Herr._ (Of course, sir.)

REINHARDT walks to the bathroom to prepare the bath offscreen. Meanwhile, DE KUIPER struggles with his buttons, his hands shaking badly. The migraines leave his coordination severely impared for at least a whole day. He knows this, but is still frustrated at himself for not being able to do this one simple thing. The buttons keep slipping out from between his fingers. He finds he can’t flex or clench his fingers properly to keep his grip. He feels anger roiling in him, especially when he hears the water. Time is running out for him to regain his dignity in the eyes of his manservant. He swallows hard, refusing to cry.

Footsteps from behind signal REINHARDT’S return. He sees his employer struggling, starting to reach out in order to offer help, but hesitates. DE KUIPER knows he’s there, but won’t look up to acknowledge him. Unfortunately, he can’t convince himself he has this under control any longer, his hands seeming to shake even harder while being watched. Finally, he lets them slump down his lap in defeat. He is visibly outraged.

Taking it as his cue, REINHARDT gently reaches forward, the kind of tentativeness that expects another swat in return. Thankfully, DE KUIPER keeps his hands to himself. They are balled up into fists. REINHARDT begins unbuttoning the vest delicately, then the shirt. DE KUIPER cooperates and lets REINHARDT slide them off his shoulders. He takes note of DE KUIPER’S undershirt, and decides the easier option at the moment would be to help him with his slacks. The COUNT is now in nothing but his knee-length undershorts and sleeveless undershirt. DE KUIPER holds his hand up, barring REINHARDT from going any further.

COUNT DE KUIPER  
 _Mijn stok, alsjeblieft._ (My cane, please.)

REINHARDT retrieves it from the floor and hands it over. Surprisingly, DE KUIPER is able to get up onto his feet, albeit still shakily. REINHARDT stands close. DE KUIPER starts making good progress, but then buckles over. REINHARDT’S arms shoot out almost automatically, but DE KUIPER holds a hand up, halting him. He tries again, only for the same thing to happen, but this time REINHARDT catches him under his armpits.

REINHARDT  
(whispering)  
 _Bitte lassen Sie mich helfen, Herr. Bitte._ (Please let me help you, sir. Please.)

DE KUIPER tenses, ready to dole out a venomous remark, but he stops himself. Something in REINHARDT’S voice quells the anger within him, temporarily replacing it with regret at his initial abrasiveness. REINHARDT helps him stand up straight, then ever so gently puts a slim arm behind his neck, preparing to carry the COUNT bridal-style again. Astoundingly, he does not protest.

The COUNT is only a few inches shorter than REINHARDT, who is already extremely tall, but to him, he leaves little to no strain on his muscles whatsoever. DE KUIPER refuses to make eye contact. To REINHARDT in the moment, he looks humorously petulant, but to laugh would ruin everything completely. Luckily, his journey to the bathroom isn’t long at all, and REINHARDT seats him on the edge of the bathtub, the water steaming. They both look at each other, knowing what has to happen next. DE KUIPER glances away, silently denying REINHARDT permission to do so.

COUNT DE KUIPER  
 _Draai je om, alsjeblieft._ (Turn around, please.)

REINHARDT does so dutifully, hands behind his back. He hears the rustling of the COUNT’S underclothes, followed by them being thrown aside on the floor, then the plop of a foot entering the still water. He waits for the sound of the COUNT sitting down fully before turning to give him his attention.

When he does, the COUNT looks even more fragile than he did before. His body is only visible from the ribs up, his long arms hugging around his knees. It only shows how much more obvious it is that the COUNT is not an evil old man, bent on insulting people and ruining their days. He is lonely, he is in pain, he is mortified, and he has nothing else but his dignity. REINHARDT has never bore him an inkling of ill will. He only wishes for the COUNT to open up to him. He wants so badly to be his friend. The old need friends as they get older.

REINHARDT removes his vest and rolls up his sleeves, reaching for the bar of soap in a nearby dish and starting with the COUNT’S back. He feels the tension leave his muscles, but not the sadness. He lathers up the COUNT’S shoulders, reaching gently around to get at his neck; he leans his head up cooperatively. REINHARDT continues to his chest; though the doctor is frail, his shoulders are wide, and his chest is somewhat defined, dusted with dark hair like his arms and legs.

COUNT DE KUIPER  
 _Ik zal al het andere onder de gordel doen, heel erg bedankt._ (I’ll do everything else below the belt, thank you very much.)

REINHARDT  
 _Das würde ich nicht wagen, mein Herr._ (I wouldn’t dare, my lord.)

REINHARDT kneels at the side of the tub to lather up the COUNT’S arms. He is expressionless.

REINHARDT  
 _Wenn Ihr wollt, kann ich Eure Schultern massieren, mein Herr._ (If you want, I can massage your shoulders, my lord)

Silence, as DE KUIPER thinks it over.

COUNT DE KUIPER  
 _Ja, bedankt._ (Yes, thank you.)

REINHARDT moves behind the tub, and reaches into the water a little bit to warm his hands before beginning his massage. DE KUIPER shivers, inhaling sharply at the sudden contact. It's different than being washed, different when the hands on you have the purpose of making you feel better. He finds REINHARDT is incredibly skilled, his thumbs digging into knots in his muscles he didn’t even know he had. He rests his arms on his knees, and his cheek against them, but he slowly recoils. He finds a sore spot in his cheek, feeling with his tongue that it might be a self-induced bite.

REINHARDT notices the COUNT rubbing his cheek.

REINHARDT  
 _Geht es Ihnen gut, Herr?_ (Are you alright, sir?)

COUNT DE KUIPER  
 _Ik geloof dat ik in mijn wang beet toen ik flauwviel. Ik moet een scherpe rugtand hebben._ (I think I bit my cheek when I fainted. I must have a sharp back tooth.)

REINHARDT  
 _Oh. Nun, möchtest du, dass ich dir helfe?_ (Oh. Well then, do you want me to help?)

DE KUIPER nods, and REINHARDT briefly leaves the room. He comes back with a thimble, kneeling down near the side of the tub. The two of them realize now that they’re very close to each other. Intimately close. REINHARDT softly cups the COUNT’S chin and asks him to open his mouth, and he inserts his finger to feel for the sharp tooth. He finds it on the left near the first molar, and removes his finger to replace it with the thimbled thumb, filing down the point with it.

REINHARDT finds his attention drawn from the tooth and to the COUNT himself. He’s looking to the right and away from REINHARDT, clearly embarrassed that he’s been reduced to this level of vulnerability, a soft pink blush washing over his cheeks. REINHARDT finds himself blushing, too. He’s never been this close to the COUNT before, save for when he was holding him earlier. The COUNT has long eyelashes, the eyes themselves a bluish-gray. His lips look soft and smooth, his teeth neat and clean, his tongue a deep, deep pink. Almost red, as if he’d swallowed blood. REINHARDT felt his thumb becoming warm and damp. He licks his lips, feeling sweat beading on his chin. In any other situation, he might even consider the COUNT beautiful.

DE KUIPER cannot avert his gaze any longer, and he lets his eyes set themselves straight ahead. He sees the white of REINHARDT’S beard, and begins lifting his gaze to look at the rest of him. His nose is broad, and looks like it’s been broken quite a few times in the past. His beard and mustache look soft, and DE KUIPER strangely enough feels the urge to touch it. Mere curiosity, of course. His under-eyes are creased, but DE KUIPER finds age doesn’t show as prominently in REINHARDT as it does in him, and he feels a twinge of jealousy. Something about him radiates youth of the spirit. Maybe his kindness. Or his strength. Or both. His inner analysis is interrupted when their gazes meet, and DE KUIPER feels something else entwine with his envy, something he cannot define. He feels his face heating up from within; because of the bath water, of course. He feels a slight tremble; his coordination issues, undoubtedly. The hunger, though; that is something he has trouble coming up with an excuse for. He feels open, and vulnerable, and good, and ironically, he doesn’t feel naked anymore. A twist in his belly reminds him of an unfortunate, unbiased fact; REINHARDT is a handsome man.

REINHARDT removes his thumb, still cupping SIEBREN’S face a few seconds longer than needed before realizing he needs to feel if the tooth has been properly filed down. His index finger goes back in to confirm, and drags against the corner of SIEBREN’s mouth on it's way out. The two continue to look at one another, until REINHARDT breaks the silence.

REINHARDT  
(tipping SIEBREN’s chin up a little)  
 _Es sollte dir jetzt gut gehen._ (You should be fine now.)

He releases his hand. SIEBREN swallows, blinking himself back to reality. He runs his tongue over his teeth.

SIEBREN  
 _Bedankt. Ik kan voor de rest zorgen._ (Thank you. I can take care of the rest.)

REINHARDT dutifully stands up straight, nodding his head. He turns to open the door.

REINHARDT  
 _Danke, mein Herr._ (Thank you, my lord.)

SIEBREN  
 _Waarvoor?_ (For what?)

REINHARDT  
 _Dafür, dass Sie die ganze Zeit "bitte" und "danke" sagen._ (For saying “please” and "thank you" all the time.)


End file.
